Insomnia At Its Finest
by wickedwriter916
Summary: Darcy Lewis is horrible at sleeping, and having fun, and not being annoyed at Clint.
1. Darcy Can't Sleep

Most nights in the Avenger's Tower Darcy can fall asleep easily. Regardless if there was a super villain attack on the city or Tony blew up some equipment that he was testing, as soon as Darcy's head hit the pillow at night she was out cold. But not tonight; at first she was too cold, her toes frozen and unable to get warm. And then she was too hot, and she threw her extra blanket to the floor. Her shirt bunched around her ribs uncomfortably and her shorts rode up her bum. She readjusted and twisted and flopped back onto her stomach. That didn't feel right, so she rolled to her side. She felt an awkward tingle at the base of her spine, so she rolled to her other side and huffed a sigh of annoyance. She tried lying on her back, moving the pillow flush against her neck, fully cradling her head. It was comfortable but she was still unable to relax into sleep. After what felt more like hours squirming and tangling herself up in her sheets she growled a noise of frustration and lie flat on her stomach, face buried into the pillow, one arm pined straight down her body, hand on her thigh, the other bent with her hand tickling her collarbone.

A sharp sensation of pleasure shot through her body straight to her core as her fingers danced along the exposed skin at her neck. Moving her head from the feathery depths of her cotton covered pillow, she raised eyebrow and sighed in relief as her body responded to her light touching. Soon her fingers at her thigh inched towards her center, working their way into her shorts and toying with her clit through the barrier of her panties. A quiet sigh and a low moan accompanied this first touch. This felt good for a time, but as her heart rate picked up, she needed more. The pads of her fingers dug harder, and rubbed faster, and soon her breath was coming out in hot puffs, steam heating the side of her pillow. A strangled moan escaped from her throat as she egged on the feeling with her greedy little fingers. Moans, and breath, and whimpers, and sighs, and an "oh good god; fuck!" followed by an entirely too loud squeal, and then Darcy lay panting in a heap on her mattress. Smirking to herself she spun over and nuzzled her cheek into her pillow, her heart still pounding, but as it slowed she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

As Darcy padded through the hallway to the mess hall the next morning she was greeted by a mussed haired Hawkeye. He looked up from his bowl of cereal briefly before consuming another spoonful.

"Morning," Darcy greeted uncharacteristically cheery.

Clint's eyebrow raised as he appraised her moving about the cupboards to procure a package of Pop-Tarts. "Mornin'" he replied in a morning-rough tone. "Sleep alright?" he queried.

Darcy nodded with her back turned as she heated the fruit-filled pastries. "Yeah, took me a while last night, but I finally passed out," she replied nonchalantly.

"Yeah," Clint replied, "I usually rub one out if I have trouble sleeping too."

Darcy froze on her feet and blushed profusely before her popping pastries demanded her rescuing from the toaster. She plated them and turned, intent on not showing her embarrassment. As she sat down at the table she didn't meet his eyes, but saw him from her peripheral staring purposefully at her. Her poker face must have paid off because he seemed to be studying her as she chewed. Inhaling to emphasize her chest, she turned and gave him a look, wiggling just a little bit to draw his attention. She allowed a small smirk when she saw his eyes dart away from her face to gaze at her breasts for the smallest of seconds.

A throat clearing from the door drew both of their attentions.

"Ms. Lewis, Barton," Steve Rogers said with a bright flush on his cheeks as he moved easily to the coffee pot.

"Captain," Clint replied without looking over to him, while Darcy swiveled almost fully in her seat.

"Morning Steve," she always found that she liked seeing him as a normal person when he wasn't in costume, because he was seriously a sexy piece of her every fantasy in his Captain America suit; and admittedly she felt just a little bit bad in objectifying him like that.

"So next time you're having a little trouble falling asleep, remember that I'm just a room away. And I'll be willing to lend you a hand," Clint Barton said giving Darcy a meaningful once over with a wink and boyish smirk before depositing his empty bowl into the sink.

Steve nearly choked on his coffee, and flushed the prettiest color of rouge.

Darcy's eyes followed his delicious ass out of the door and thought fleetingly that maybe next time she would take him up on that offer; but in all reality she didn't think that would happen.


	2. Darcy Has Tried Everything

Darcy has literally tried everything. And not that she's above counting sheep but that hasn't worked since Darcy realized that all of the girls she grew up with in that small town were sheep, which was old and clichéd and she much preferred thinking of them getting tangled up in an electrical fence. While yes, morbid, it's not like she would actual advocate the death of her pre-teen classmates, but her imagination was pretty twisted. She's tried the herbal tea recommended by Dr. Banner, who obviously knows what he's talking about, and while the chamomile is calming it's doing nothing to lure her to the land of nod. She's done some of Natasha's stretches, including the one that reminds her of her college yoga class that puts her hanging upside down off the edge of her bed but she feels the creep of a headache come on faster than drowsiness. Darcy even tries a playlist of Pepper's, recommended by JARVIS, for when Pepper needs some Zen after one of Tony's more annoying days, and yes, the steady drums are awesome and take her once again back to her college yoga class which just makes her want to move through some Sun Salutations, which will do nothing but keep her awake longer.

And there is no way that she'll go back to self-medication, or even any, because she's been there, done that, and had way to many strange phone conversations with her then boyfriend, which she doesn't entirely recall all that was said. Reading only lasts for about 5 minutes before she's too bored and has been reading the same sentence over and over again without comprehending it and knows that it's a lost cause. So she flops and sighs once again, slightly angry with herself for spending that extra half hour under the shower, since the hot water never runs out, and getting in some quality time with her brand new battery-operated-boyfriend, which hell, she's a bit proud to be the owner of a shiny new Rabbit that she's been dying to try. And in the back of her mind she remembers a friend of hers, that she worked retail in for a few months during the summer she stayed in town during college, who warned her that: while the Rabbit is an amazing piece of machinery, it's like super-intense and can only be used sparingly, and Darcy is peeved because she didn't think it would be a Thing, but her clit is seriously sore and she feels like she got rode hard and put away wet, which she totally did, but apparently not in the good way.

So she spends some time browsing random pictures online, which kills another hour before she has to drag herself away before this becomes a seriously bad habit and lays down with her head uncomfortably propped on a lumpy pillow and pulls out her iPhone to clean off her most useless apps before she comes across one she hasn't seen since her last semester she spent on campus before Thor and definitely before Jane. It's a little tiny controller icon and she smirks faintly at the memory, TwitchTV is this gamer-thing. She used to pass out on her ex's couch when he would spend hours being a douche and ignoring her in favor of the latest first-person shooter. And she would loathe admitting that when she wasn't passing out on his couch she used the app to listen to other live streams in order to rock her off to sleep. She boots it up and after a few false starts, because the app is damn twitchy, she finds a Call of Duty stream that happens to be killing zombies, and she has to say that the mini-game was probably the only thing that she would ever play, because seriously, zombies, but it's moderately entertaining and the streamers aren't twelve year old boys calling everyone gay and tea bagging the corpses.

Three of the players talk with frequency, calling out strategies and laughing about their work day, because they're obviously friends, but the fourth guy only says something every few minutes and it's "crawler" "dogs" "monkey bomb" and by the time he says "teleporter" she realizes that there's an echo. And then she recognizes the voice, and she's up out of bed, shuffling quickly into slippers and scurrying out of her room and into the dimly lit hallway with the emergency low-lighting and she's tapping faster and faster on the door next door, and Clint Barton is opening it up looking frustrated, a headset half-skewed off of his neck and a wireless controller in one hand. He hasn't even said a greeting before Darcy has pushed pasted him and into his living quarters stomping over to the TV and holding up her phone to inform him, "You do realize that the guys you're playing with are streaming right?" she asks looking to him expectantly.

He's boggled at her lady balls and just shuts his door tightly, "Yeah, they're old corps buddies," he says nonchalantly before moving back to the couch, thankful that he stayed above the theater floor.

Darcy nods and closes out of the app, "Oh," she says smartly as she leans back and sits next to him on the couch. Watching zombies was always more fun than campaign mode in her opinion.

In the morning Darcy wakes up to the smell of hot coffee and tangled up in a blanket on an unfamiliar couch.

"You snore," Barton says from the kitchen where he's leaned on the counter with two mugs in front of him and that shit-eating grin on his face.

Darcy groans and spares a look out the windows, the few trees that she can see around Manhattan are half-bloomed and covered in pollen, "well, 'tis the season." She shuffles off to his bathroom because it's in the same place as hers is, and empties her bladder and steals some of his mouthwash, but doesn't bother to fix her hair because the guy let her fall asleep on his couch. She greets him back in the kitchen and steals the fuller cup of steaming hot liquid from near his elbow and raises an eyebrow in gratitude.

"So when I said I was next door if you needed a hand," he began, glancing at her bra-less chest through her light tee shirt.

"Yeah, thanks for that, it was just what I needed to fall asleep," she quickly drinks the rest of her cup, even though it scalds her tongue and presses a quick peck to his cheek before making a hasty escape.

And when she finds herself at the used game store later that afternoon after the grind at S.H.I.E.L.D. slows to a halt for the night, she doesn't let herself smirk and think that Barton has any influence over the fact that she's caving and buying one of these consoles. But when she sets it up and makes her account she doesn't suppress the guffaw at having a friend request from SureShot, with the message to practice because he wants to recruit her to his zombie killing squad, and she thanks JARVIS through her laughter.


	3. Darcy Kills Zombies

It comes to no surprise that Darcy is home alone on Saturday night. The week at S.H.l.E.L.D had been hectic, as usual. She'd spent much of her Friday morning and afternoon copying and correcting expense reports with her favorite blue and red pens, which continued well into the night because some people still didn't know the difference between out of pocket and company charge account. The stack had been gargantuan, and Darcy had plowed through the work day and soon discovered that the crisis of HR's payroll errors when nearly every agent on their floor came storming over at one point or another during the day to use Coulson, and by extension Darcy as a sounding board for their complaints. Not that anything could be done, and they really should be taking this up with HR, or their supervisor, whom was unfortunately out in medical leave, which awarded Darcy the sight of Coulson putting out twice as many fires during the day than he normally handled, however her amused expression disappeared when Coulson gracefully cruised out of his office at 5 o'clock on the dot with a sideways glance at her still rather large pile of paperwork.

"Remember Ms. Lewis, expense reports are due in accounting no later than 8:15 Monday morning," he said quickly before strolling quickly down the hallway before he could be accosted by any more sorry agents.

Darcy's mood instantly darkened, fucking dick. "You have a good weekend too, Phil!" she shouted after him. It would serve him right to get verbally assaulted at least two more times on his way out of the building now.

So that was how Darcy spent her Friday night (much to Jane's disappointment), in, correcting and re-creating horribly fucked up reports. She had passed out around 5 am after a rousing round of infomercial surfing with a bowl of fruity cereal, and woke once again later that morning at 11, and decided to fuck it. She showered, and put on her comfiest clothes, made herself a cheese quesadilla and slurped frozen not-strong-enough margarita mix out of the container as she went to work once again, not stopping until she heard a rather sudden and startling BANG! BANG! BANG! on her door hours after the sun had set below the buildings.

Frustrated, and slightly nauseous from the sugary alcohol and singular cheese filled tortilla, she opened her apartment door to find Barton standing before her with his giddy shit-eating grin, and the fact that she could tell the difference between the moods behind them made her feel even more dopey. She brushed past it like he did to her and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Of course, Barton, make yourself at home."

"I thought we were past the last names bit, Darce, with you snoring on my couch and being my gaming buddy and all," he commented easily shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking around on his heels.

"We would, if you would fill out your damn reports correctly and hand them to me in a timely fashion," she glared. It did not get past her notice that as she gleefully watched another unnamed agent swinging his arms around in exasperation inside Coulson's office yesterday that a scribbled and purpled penned piece of paper found its way to the top of her NEEDS HELP MEOW pile.

"Yesterday afternoon is timely, they aren't due until next Friday," he shrugged.

"No, they are due this Monday," she groaned again and nodded over to the piles that were stacked along her coffee table.

Clint raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "Yeesh," he turned back to her, grinning. "So what are you doing tonight?"

She gaped at him flabbergasted. She started gesturing wildly to the work she still had to do, "Obviously!" she shouted.

"Meet me in the common room in five, you look like you need a bit of a distraction," he eyed her up and down.

She barely had the time to feel self-conscious about her favorite bumming it clothes before he was back through her doorway calling out to her through the closing door.

"Make sure you wear something tactical!" in a tone that was far too alluring for her own good, and she frowned and could only worry about what he meant by that.

Eight minutes later she was wearing her most awesome boots that Natasha had approved for all matters of ass-kickery, which she might need if Barton was going to keep annoying her while she had a deadline, and an outfit that had gotten her through more than one training session with the Cap, Thor and Widow, who had deemed her proficient enough with a taser, and scrappy enough to incapacitate any attacker without totes fucking up and hurting herself.

Barton was obviously up to something, he was too excitable and had physically dragged Darcy down the hallway to the elevator where he entered a code for a floor that she'd never seen and rocked restlessly until the doors opened again.

"Coulson's not going to need a replacement assistant is he? Jane's not going to have to try and, like, identifying me by my toes nails, right?" Darcy asked slightly concerned because the area that they had stepped into was sterile, and freaky, and way too much like the underground level of the Xavier Mansion she had toured with Jane from that one time that Wolverine had out-snarked at Tony and offered to show the girls around (Darcy was pretty sure that Tony would die without Jane to talk geeky shop with, because while he loved torturing Bruce, Jane was pretty to look at.) because you never knew when the next alien crisis was going to occur and the X-Men had offered to help with the Avengers more 'precious' assets.

Clint let out a bark of a laugh and led her through a doorway, steering her over to a table, outfitting her with Stark Tech looking vest with sensors, those funny little bracelets that Tony uses for some of his suits, (which truthfully Darcy gets a _little_ excited about), and these funny see-through glasses. Barton had been, funnily, already dressed in such additions when he came to see her, which Darcy only takes notice of now. He leads them through another door and down a set of steps into a giant arena.

It's dark inside, but obviously made of the same material as the white hallway, and it looks a little like the Danger Room.

"Jarvis," Clint calls out, "can you please prepare the room?" he asks and pulls Darcy next to his side and the floors shift and elevate, walls move closer and further, and Darcy is more than a little concerned when she feels the cool lightweight of plastic pushed into her hand.

"You're not going to put me through one of your exercises are you?" because up until this point she had no idea what she was doing down here, but if it's running through an Avengers scenario she is not going to be pleased.

"Run the sim," he calls out to Jarvis with a wicked grin aimed in Darcy's direction, and she _glares_.

"Barton, what the fuck-"

The room gets darker, not that it wasn't possible and then there's noise, a fog horn and by the time she looks around, the platform next to her looks like a transported and a tattered Nazi flag is stuck by some couches in the middle of two sweeping sets of stairs. "Kino der Toten?" she calls out, more excited than she intended and looks over to where Barton was, but is now vacant.

Now Darcy is stoked, because hell, this is a giant human simulation of her favorite zombie mini-game, but then she remembers that she's not particularly good at Zombies, but she enjoys it all the same, and then she hears it, the tear of wood, the groans of the undead and she whirls with that piece of plastic, which through her glasses looks to be a handgun.

"You totes would be the only person who could effectively use a bow against zombies!" Darcy scoffs later and they sit hip to hip in the cafeteria, basking in the bright morning sun and after-glow of hours of zombie mayhem.

Clint grins through a mouthful of sugary oatmeal and nudges her with his shoulder, "I seem to remember you being quite relieved about the explosive bolts," he teases.

"Yes well, I just glad that whoever you conned into writing up this program you made, made the feels of being a zombie buffet akin to being mauled by affectionate puppies," she replies and sinks her teeth through a piece of buttery toast.

"Yeah well, I can't be having you too freaked out by the hordes of the undead animations, I need you for Thursday's game," he winked at her playfully and pushed some of his bacon in her direction.

She snatched a piece without a second thought and grinned as she chewed through it, thinking of how awesome it had actually been while playing a simulation. Granted she wasn't any better at it than she normally did, but she felt like she may have improved on her aim a bit, making her confident that she would never miss another taser shot again.

"We should do that again sometime," she said what she thought.

"You have fun?" Clint grinned at her.

"Yeah," she admitted nonplussed.

"When exactly was the last time that you had fun, Lewis?" Clint asked.

She could have been upset about his use of her last name, but for some reason the way that it rolled off of his tongue made her ladybits go all tingly. She sighed and bristled, boldly laying her heavy head on his shoulder. "It's been quite a while," she admitted reluctantly.

"Well maybe we should have some fun more often then," he said, his tone soft.

She yawned and nodded, "Yeah, just as long as you stop interrupting me while I'm working," she frowned.

Darcy woke with a jolt. Shit, that fucking paper work is due on Monday, was her first thought, followed shortly by: What fucking time is it? as she scrambled to find her glasses.

Her bedside alarm told her that it was just after 4 am, Monday morning.

"Shit, mother fucking cunt, shit, shit, fuck, shit!" she hissed as she shuffled sleepily, but panicked out into her living room where she discovered one, rather large, but neat pile of expense reports on her coffee table. She sank into the couch and looked suspiciously at the work before her. It was correct, all of it, page after page, report after fucking report, it was all correct, neat, and error free in alphabetical order sitting right in front of her!

"What in the name of Thor's dad?" she asked pushing her askew glasses into place, looking around in bewilderment.

There was an odd piece of paper propped up on her brewing coffee pot and she moved over to it steadily. In neat, capital letters that matched those on some of the forms she saw:

Best. Zombies. Partner. Ever.

We should do fun again, how's your Tuesday looking?

And it was signed Clint, with an arrow running through his name, which made Darcy giggle terribly because she signed her notes with a heart, and god damn it if he didn't just fucking Cupid her ass.


	4. Darcy Waits Up

Because Tuesday ended up being a bust, with Dr. Doom effectively ruining Darcy's plans for more fun, the Avengers had high-tailed it out of New York in pursuit of the evil doctor, with help from the family Richards-Storm and the lovely Mr. Grimm. And by Thursday they still weren't back. And Darcy hadn't slept a wink.

Not that it had affected her work, and not that Coulson had said anything after the awesomely accurate reports that had been turned early on Monday morning, and the accompanying coffee that she had gifted him on his desk, despite how much he had pissed her off Friday. By Wednesday afternoon Darcy was practically hooked to a coffee IV-drip and had a steady supply of energy shots she forced down with every Pop-Tart break with Jane.

When Thursday morning had rolled around and Darcy was still sitting at her desk in yesterdays clothes with a preliminary after-action report completed and ready for Coulson's approval as well as an updated threat assessment file on Dr. Doom and damage and expenses report from the fight that had occurred in SoHo, Coulson raised one groomed eyebrow at Darcy and said, "Ms. Lewis, am I going to need to have any agents escort you to the medical bay and make sure that you get some rest?"

Darcy figured that it was the only way that Agent Coulson knew how to show concern. "Hold the phone on calling in any more of your jack-booted thugs, I'll head out after this." Even though she wasn't going to sleep when she got back to her apartment, by this point her head was swimming and she was approaching a Jane-level of concentration in SHIELD paperwork and form-filing.

Coulson doesn't blink, but merely looks down at the energy shots and discarded gum and Styrofoam cups that are starting to overflow in her waste basket. "Forget it, I'm taking you myself."

And Darcy has seen that viral video, she knows Coulson is secretly a ninja just like, oh god- her heart flutters, _Clint_, and she very nearly vomits all over her keyboard.

Coulson's got a hand wrapped around her arm and is surprisingly gentle when he tugs her out of her desk chair and turns off her monitor after one-handedly locking her computer, and ushers her to the elevators in the early morning light of the office.

Darcy mumbles her protests and whines that she's fine and that she promises that she'll sleep, but Coulson says nothing, and looks entirely too sympathetic for just being her boss, and moves her quietly and without fuss or flare to the medical bay where he calmly informs the staff doctor that she hasn't been sleeping, and for what he can attest to at least 48 hours this week, but he has noted that she regularly receives less-than the recommended on a weekly basis.

The attending tisks and flurries around her, checking vitals and suggesting a sleep study and medication, but notes nothing not-normal other than slightly elevated blood pressure, which Darcy can fix with more sleep and physical activity( but everyone in the building is a little high-strung so it's not all that uncommon). But she swears off the medication and promises not to take it and does not consent to being prodded like a lab rat and glares at Phil who frowns disapproving and shuffles off to her living quarters with him at her elbow, and makes her promise at the door to not come back to the office until she's had at least 10 hours of restful sleep. And he was not above making sure that JARVIS monitors her to assure that she does, in fact, sleep. She assured him that she would try, and quietly closed the door.

A hour later, after a too warm shower, a change into more comfortable sweats and halfway through the first of her favorite vampire movies, Darcy is sprawled in her bed, and had the itching desire to just go to sleep, to give up the quiet _anger_ at being stood up, through no fault of his, and seething at Dr. Doom for wrecking her happy thoughts when it came to SHIELDS favorite archer-assassin. And as her fingers inched down to the band of her sweats, and Lestat seduced Jessie, she closed her eyes and relaxed into her own touch as the violin music of the film tugged and pulled at her until before her mind's eye the image of dirty, dirty blonde hair and storm-blue eyes that peak longing from between her legs makes her heart stutter and wetness cloud her vision. She tugs her hand from her panties and curls on to her side, staring sightlessly at the wall as the movie climaxes and credits role and the DVD menu loops forever.

She finally drags herself from her bed, nine hours later, as it is well past the afternoon and settling into dusk when Jane knocks quietly and persistently at her door, pleading with her to open up. Jane looks worried, and Darcy knows that her haggard appearance and red, puffy (I have not been crying) eyes turn Jane into the proverbial mother hen; disregarding her own concern over the safe return of her own boyfriend, over her best friend's obvious distress over she doesn't-even-know-what.

"I come bearing gifts," Jane says and pushes Darcy toward the couch with several large bags in tow.

Gifts turned out to be JARVIS being awesome, and politely asking Jane to pick up these items from the common room and hand delivering them to Darcy. Neither knows where they come from, and they both have their guesses (Pepper topping Jane's, while Darcy wouldn't put it past Coulson, not after this morning), and both quietly gush over the contents of the bags. Loose tea, the good exotic kind that Darcy used to pine over but never had the nerve to purchase, with a rather expensive looking tea kettle that Darcy swore could double as a bludgeoning object. Two new fluffy feather pillows, which reels Darcy because her flat ones do tend to make her neck sore, a giant soft fleece blanket, which Darcy can't seem to stop petting, and a shirt box with a neatly folded and perfectly wrapped tee shirt inside that smelt familiar and oddly masculine.

Jane blushed and bristled at that deciding instantly that the gift package wasn't from Pepper, and Darcy moved JARVIS to the top of her list over Phil as Jane moved to make her a pot of new tea and set her off to put pillow cases on her new pillows.

Darcy had settled down under the new blanket back on her couch, this time with Jon Bon Jovi vampire film whose title makes Jane squeamish.

Darcy awakens with the need to pee, and immediately curses herself for all of that tea she drank. She stumbles to her bathroom and sleepily notes the darkness that is still looming outside. As she shuffles to her bed she notes that her blanket is on her bed, and her sheets are warm. Also, there's someone who is not-Jane-shaped lying on the opposite side. Disregarding the fact that she's only in the flimsy tee shirt that was in that gift box from earlier, she lays back down and squints to see muscles, and scars on the sexist biceps that she's ever seen and she rests a hand on his chest and just feels him breathe as the heat from his core spreads across her sink-water-chilled fingers.

He flinches slightly and moves a hand over hers, turning his head to face her. "Hey," he says, a lazy draw accompanying his sleep leaden voice.

"Hey yourself," she whispers back.

He smiles over to her and rolls on her bed to face her, and she notes to herself pleasantly that he's only wearing dark boxer briefs.

"I know that you said, that you'd lend me a hand, but," she gestured with her eyes to the pillows, blanket and tee shirt that she held to her noise during the last film and gave him a tiny yet grateful smile.

He nodded, "I thought you might need this more, at least until I got back."

"When did you-?"

"I didn't know how long it was going to take. I should have called JARVIS sooner, but when Phil texted me that he had to physically escort you to the med bay, well," he frowned at her and traced lazy circles on her wrist with his thumb.

"Is everyone?" she asked now, happily satisfied that he seemed safe and relatively unharmed.

"Yeah, five by five," he sighed, and looked at her heatedly. "You should have slept Darce."

"I couldn't," she frowned, "I was too worried-I," she sighed heavily and tried to pull away but he held her firmly in place with his hand and his gaze. "I wanted to wait up for you to get back."

He smiled, understandably, and tucked her under his chin, stroking the small of her back and she pressed against him and inhaled the smell that was slowly seeping itself into her skin.

When Darcy jolts up from her dream, now tangled in her new blanket with Jane, she stifles a whimper of self-defeat and shuffles into her slippers and out of her door, calling softly to JARVIS who silently opens the door to the still empty apartment next door. It's cold within, and kinda smelly from the stack of dirty coffee cups in the sink and a pile of questionable gym clothes on the floor by the closet, but it still smells like him, and she slips into the bed and under the covers and JARVIS is awesome and queues up Queen of the Damned again from the tower's DVD network, and she gets through it three more times before the outer door slides open, and she's practically comatose and unmoving, but still awake when Clint comes around the corner with tired eyes and frowns down at her pathetic form curled up in his sheets. "Jesus, Darce."

Before she can even give him the sad eyes and grabby hands, he's halfway up the bed and toeing his boots off, flipping her over not to gently and pulling her snug against his uniform clad body and growling softly, "go to the fuck to sleep," in her ear.

She doesn't need to be told twice.


	5. Darcy Gets A Routine

Darcy floats back into consciousness with that feeling of complete and utter peace; the kind you wake up with from knowing that because you haven't moved an inch that you were dead tired and your body needed that sleep. She has a death grip on the pillow pressed to her chest. Her chin is tucked up on its corner, the edge of it is squeezed between her knees and there's an odd but comforting heat at her back, like if she's slept with her heating pad. But the heat comes with boa constrictor arms that are wound under her head and around her torso keeping her locked tightly against the chest of someone very, very warm.

She blinks herself into full alertness and silently begins to panic because fuck if she can remember anything from the past few days, except that she had turned into a zombie that feasted on caffeine and guarrana to stay alive. The only thing visible in her blurry line of vision is a nightstand, that only contains a lamp and a dusty looking pair of dog tags with a ring nestled between them.

Darcy's heart is now pounding and she's sure that it's going to wake up her bed partner, and now that she can fucking remember that she pathetically crawled into Clint's room last night (with a little help from JARVIS) and fucking waited for him to get home from that mission she's über embarrassed. Not just blushing and apologizing profusely, but Earth-please-swallow-me-whole embarrassed. So when he inhales deeply, and squeezes her just a little bit tighter she thinks she's going to have a heart attack. But he releases her and rolls away, and now she's frozen in place and shuts her eyes and just keeps breathing, because soon the bed is dipping and she can hear him pad across the room to the bathroom and the door quietly swinging to the door jam. She doesn't waste a second, but drops the pillow and scurries from the room, bumping her shins on more than one thing on her way out of the door and back into her own apartment, before she can let go of that breath that she holding so violently.

Jane is in her kitchen, Pop-Tarts at hand and half a pot of coffee already gone, reading over what is obviously new information from the latest project that she and Dr. Banner are working on together, and she looks up when Darcy enters with a line of worry still clearly indented in her forehead.

"Oh good, I was a little worried when you weren't here this morning, but you look like you've actually slept," Jane says before retrieving a fresh mug from the clean dishes rack next to the sink and setting it next to the pot for Darcy to build herself a complicated caffeinated beverage, usually involving flavor shots and baking spices.

"Yeah," Darcy's voice croaks, "I guess I got a few hours," she stumbles over to the couch where her glasses are buried under a pillow and between the cushions, faintly hearing an off-beat of white noise, most likely from the air conditioner.

"Where did you end up going? And what time did you leave? I never heard you get up," Jane says, easily slipping into the older sister-mother hen role that she had recently become quite fond of.

Darcy shrugs and moves to pour her coffee, "next door," she says quietly as she stirs hazelnut creamer and cocoa powder into her cup.

Jane looks at her strangely from beside her research, "why would you... Oh," her eyes widen at the tee shirt that Darcy had surreptitiously changed into last night. "you aren't sleeping with Barton, are you?"

Darcy winces and takes a sip of her bitter coffee, "there is, we've never," she sighs. "There was spooning, that was the first time and we've NEVER done it," but the offer is still standing, Darcy thinks but neglects to add.

Jane's eyes remain wide, and for the first time since arriving, she notices the soothing white background noise was in fact the shower, which had just stopped. She looks befuddled at Jane who is now looking away and blushing scarlet. Fifteen seconds later Thor steps out of Darcy's bedroom wrapped in a nearly-too-small blue towel with a wide grin on his face, "Lady Darcy! My dearest Jane was concerned at your disappearance last evening and I'm sure is glad to see your safe return!" Because Thor's happy volume was at a 22, and Darcy had only begun to drink her first cup of Joe.

Her eyes move from Thor's body to Jane with one raised eyebrow, "tell me that you two did not hump like bunnies on my bed," she flinches.

Jane looks guiltily toward the couch.

Darcy shudders, "oh, just on my new blanket then."

"Friend Darcy, why are you wearing the sparring shirt of my Shield-Brother Clint?" because Thor would know whose shirt she is wearing, but then again, Cap wears vintage and Tony and Bruce can't be paid to wear them. "Is he courting you?" he asks in an excited tone, "may I get to perform the Midgardian custom of 'protective older sibling', as my Jane says it is called?"

"No!" Jane shouts at the same time that Darcy sputters her coffee and mumbles "It's complicated."

Thor nods sagely to Darcy and Jane and says, "yes, I have heard of that saying before, you are not courting, but you are sharing a bed then?"

Darcy blanches and sets down her mug quickly, sloshing some of the contents over the side and onto the counter.

"Ok, Thor, sweetie, let's get you into some clothes and we'll go get some breakfast out. At a diner, where none of the team will be," Jane says while ushering Thor back into Darcy's bedroom with an apologetic look over her shoulder to her friend.

Thor ended up apologizing later that evening, commenting that while he meant no offense, that from what he had gathered from Midgardian culture, the phrase 'It's complicated' typically involved sex without any sort of formal relationship or with multiple partners where feelings were often unresolved or unknown amongst the participants.

He continued on to observe that while they may not be metaphorically sleeping together, that it was obvious to everyone that they held some desire and care for one and other, regardless of what may or may not have been said between them. Barton's obvious distress near the end of the mission when he received an encoded text from HQ, had sent him in a tizzy, where he was unreachable for at least an hour of their final planning, and was back and ready for action with a brutal vengeance that seemed to concern most of the team. It had taken Tony twenty minutes to hack into the SHIELD database and locate the encrypted message (all because JARVIS refused to be of assistance on this one) and quietly played telephone among the rest of the team until Natasha sent him a flat glare that stopped all gossip. The only thing that Thor had heard on the flight was that the message was pertaining to Darcy, but none of the details (which he had later received from Jane) were known to him. In the end he apologized once more, in a volume that Darcy could accept and appreciate, and went off to find Jane. This left Darcy standing in her apartment with Clint's shirt in her hand and not a fucking clue what to do with it.

Darcy knocks quietly on the door before her. She isn't sure which is worse, having to talk about this situation or actually being part of it. But she stands there, tries not to fidget and dance around on her feet, or pull at the loose thread from the hem of the shirt that is balled between her hands. The door opens with a quiet click, and swings to reveal Barton before her, looking gruff, like he has still been sleeping since she left earlier that morning and more than a little annoyed to see her there. She dances a little more, tries to find the right thing to say, and Clint, the asshole that he is, stands there and stares expectantly.

"Here's your shirt back, thanks for letting me borrow-" he waves his hand and cuts her off before she can even finish her sentence.

"It was a gift," he says flatly.

Well so much for that.

"Oh," she nods once and fists the shirt into a tighter ball, which makes her knuckles hurt. She turns on her heel and shuffles slowly back to her room, she doesn't hear the door close next door as she shuts her own and leans against it. "Sofuckingstupid," she breathes out in frustration and frowns, disliking the tingly feeling in her jaw and the flipping of her intestines in that unpleasant upchuck sort of manner. Regardless she has to make it back to the office in the morning, and she is sure that JARVIS can attest to her sleeping, if only just making those ten hours required by Coulson, so she strips off the sweater and bra, shrugs back on the now wrinkled tee that doesn't smell quite as much like Clint as it did the night before, and peels the leggings that she assumed would work for a day of bumming it. They are stripped half-way down, over her knees when the unmistakable click of her door opening shocks her. She freezes and dares to peek around the side of her leg to see Clint standing stock still in her doorway.

"Uh, hi?" she asks as she quickly stands and turns, doing that funny dance of trying to toe-off the rest of her leggings.

"Don't mind me," Clint grins wolfishly.

Ah, this she is familiar with. So she rolls her eyes and collects her discarded clothes from the floor, careful not to bend over and wave her ass in the air once again, like she had accidently been doing when he walked through her door, uninvited. Moving back to her bedroom she deposits her laundry in the hamper and looks over her shoulder to see him standing just inside of the door. "Which side do you want?" he asks before she can even fathom what he is thinking about doing.

"Uh," she articulates, and points to the side she is standing at, and crawls under the messy covers, as he does the same on the other side. The new pillows are a nice addition.

"Heads up, I usually sprawl," Darcy says as he tugs her by her hips back to his.

He chuckles darkly in her ear, "I know, and you snore too, remember?"

She rolls her eyes, "I do not snore."

"Mmhm, where's that awesome blanket?"

"You would think it's awesome, it's in the hamper."

"I happen to have one just like it, why's it in there and not over here?"

"Jane and Thor christened it and my couch last night."

He makes a noise of disapproval and runs his nose up her neck, "try and sleep."

"You try and sleep," she bites back, trying for mean, but yawns instead, tumbling back off of the edge into dreamlessness.

It doesn't end up being every night, because SHIELD does still send him away on side missions, and the Avengers are, well, the Avengers. And those nights Darcy hunkers down with a full pillow, fleece blanket and a borrowed shirt, usually with some sort of distractingly favorite movie, and she waits.

But she tries; she does try and sleep when he's not there. She doesn't let herself get behind on paperwork, and almost always does what Coulson requests (almost always), and if Clint happens to be gone for a week and Darcy spends the night chained to a desk it usually only takes one disapproving look from Coulson before she knows that he'll run and tattle on her, so she'll take the afternoon off and wait it out with Jane in the labs, or in her apartment, or next door in his. But he usually ends up home not too soon after that, and Darcy thinks that maybe Coulson does give him a heads up, or pulls him out of the field, because a sleep deprived personal assistant is not a helpful one. Because maybe keeping Barton out of all of the relatively dangerous danger is one way to keep the best assistant/secretary/barista/lab tech that SHIELD's ever had the good luck of acquiring, sane. Or at least, that's how Darcy tends to rationalize it.

It only takes her about three months of them sleeping in the same bed, to realize that this is a regular sleeping routine. Something that she hasn't had in a very long time. And the next time that she sees Clint, sitting in her kitchen, drinking out of his favorite mug she tells him. "So, you know, thanks," she concludes and he looks at her kind of funnily. They've been back and forth between their two apartments so many times that his favorite mug sits beside hers, her teapot became their teapot, she has her own drawer for her panties and bras, and sometimes she borrows his socks along with his tee shirts and how the fuck did this all happen to her.

Clint is still looking at her amused and he sets down his mug, "Are you particularly attached to that wall?" he nods over her shoulder to the wall behind her sofa.

She glances at it and looks back at him, now wearing his expression from earlier, "it's a wall."

"Cool."

When she walks back in at 5:35 the wall is fucking gone.


	6. Clint Gets It Right

It's Darcy's look of utter disbelief that makes Clint think that maybe he should have said things a little more clearly before she left this morning for work. Because that face she's pulling is starting to scare him.

As soon as she left for the office, umpteen odd floors down, he had corralled Thor and Steve to come help him tear down a wall. The wall that separated his apartment from hers to be precise, it wasn't really doing anything other than being a bother anyway, they've been practically living together for months now, and this would just make things easier. Now every time they have coffee at his place in the morning he doesn't have to go through the hall to get his lucky mug, (which always wound up in her sink anyhow) or she won't have to scurry half-dressed through the halls at the end of the day looking for one of his clean tee shirts to steal (that he was particularly happy to put an end to). But with all the drywall and framing cleared and this BIG open space between where her bedroom ended and his began was apparently freaking her out.

Thor looks mighty pleased with the work that they'd done in the short amount of time, because while there are only a few wires hanging down from the ceiling and his kitchen is no longer operational, they can now live in a giant apartment, similar to the one that he shares with "his" Jane.

Steve takes one look at Darcy's less than enthused face; gives Clint a _look_, and fidgets like he wants to build the wall back up to wipe that expression off of Darcy's face.

Which, dude, my girl.

Clint throws a glare back at Steve with equal snark, who sighs, and mumbles about going to tell Tony, while making a slow retreat towards the door.

Thor claps a drywall dust covered hand on Clint's back and offers up good cheer before leaving Darcy pale faced after a quiet word that even Clint can't hear. And when the door shuts behind him they are left in silence, Darcy's mouth working like a fish, but no coherent words coming out. Just flabbergasted noises.

The awkward lasts for five minutes, and Darcy hasn't been able to say anything before the door swings open and Tony enters followed by a triumphant looking Steve.

"What did you do to my baby?" Tony questions rather loudly.

At this both Darcy and Clint look at him with equal parts oh my god and what the fuck.

Tony is already over at the wiring checking to see the damage, and he mumbles to himself, and sometimes to JARVIS about structural stability, and electrical damage.

In the end he claps his hands together and declares, "right! I can work with this. JARVIS, call Pepper, I'm going to need her to help draft the new floor plans."

"Ms. Potts is in flight at the moment, currently descending over Dulles International Airport, would you like me to have the video conference set up for when she arrives in the vehicle, sir?"

"Excellent, you know what, I'll meet her there," he says already making a beeline for the door. "Any more additions I can add for you crazy kids or was tearing down my wall enough to satisfy your rebellious needs?"

"I want a see-through bookshelf!" Finally, she speaks! And points to the space where the wall used to be, near the windows. "Right there."

Tony looks over her shoulder then to her and nods once, "Right, JARVIS, add it to the new layout plan, similar to.." his voice trails off as he moves down the hall and is blocked by the sound of the elevator announcement.

Steve's look of victory disappears and he quietly scurries out of the room and after Tony.

Who is zipping passed the buildings down the block and hitting supersonic just as he passes the city limits.

They get moved for a week, while the renovations get completed, but Clint has lurked around the air ducts when Tony isn't around and Pepper left plans out, and JARVIS may just be getting to finally like him, but the new layout looks awesome. His room becomes the master suite, with a massive bathroom, and his kitchen goes away and her kitchenette goes full on Iron Chef size, with a range hood and double sink, and an actual dishwasher. Her bedroom walls are replaced with glass walls around an office, which almost looks like it doubles as a panic room, making Clint's inner soldier cheer. Her bathroom becomes a laundry room (which fuck yeah! No more service washers) and the living room looks the same, just with a wee bit more space.

In this week though, he hardly sees Darcy. She gets up at the ass crack of dawn, way earlier than she needs to be to get to the office from the Hilton across the street, and doesn't come back to the hotel until around midnight. Clint goes to the office every day as well, still spars with Natasha, gets glared at by Steve, annoys Tony (now more with the prospects of their room being finished), and sits in the air duct above Coulson's office and watches Darcy bury herself in her work. By the fourth day Clint is beginning to think that he did something wrong.

"Did you ask her?" Natasha asks that same day as she stands over his prone form. She's been thoroughly kicking his ass all afternoon and he's been using his recovery time to work through Darcy's distance.

"Well," he begins, taking her proffered hand. "Not in so many words."

Natasha lets out a bitter laugh and flips him again, sending him sprawling to the mat in a heap and an "oomph."

"You probably should have mentioned that you wanted to move in with her, instead of just ripping down a wall," Natasha tells him.

"What should I have asked? We've been sleeping in the same bed for months!"

"Well, yes. How do you know if she wants to live with you, maybe she's just using you for your body, I know I did," Natasha gives him a wink while putting him into a headlock with her thighs.

At that Clint taps out and stalks off to the shower to think.

That night Clint actually attempts conversation with Darcy since the day that she couldn't find her words.

She had just closed the door, and threw the chain lock and door stopper over, because she knows how he prefers it, and moves to kick off her shoes and remove her pencil skirt, and he can't help but like that she doesn't always wear tights with them, like Natasha always would, because when she drops the skirt and moves to unbutton her collared shirt he just rests his head in his hand and watches. Her bra doesn't match her panties, and his tee shirt is on over it before he can really get any good time gazing at her chest.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out.

She pauses while she works out of her bra from underneath his shirt. "About?" she replies, the icy tone of her voice making Clint flinch.

"Assuming that you wanted to move in with me. I should have," he shakes his head and blows a raspberry to the air.

Darcy tosses the bra with the pile of clothes on the floor, and raises her eyebrow for him to continue.

"Not assumed?" he staggers.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, "no, really, ya think?" her sarcasm burning him.

Immediately his walls rise, "Well what would you like me to do, tell Tony to put the wall back up? Steve would love that," he bites defensively.

"What the hell does Steve have to do with this?" Darcy asks, irritation radiating off of her.

"Nothing," Clint barks.

"There's no use putting the wall back up, everything's almost done," she snaps.

"Well, fine," Clint blusters.

"Fine," Darcy spits harshly.

That night Darcy sprawls like a hellion. Even in sleep she won't let him hold her. She kicks at his shins when she shifts the pillow between her legs. She punches him in the face more than once when she turns sides. Clint gives up on sleep pretty quickly after he thinks that she might actually hit his nose again, and knows that he really did do something wrong.

Clint was sulking in the ducts for the better part of the day, right in Coulson's office, having arrived two hours before he did, and three before Darcy, who looked exhausted and was yawning every few minutes.

When she left for lunch he trailed her silently through the halls to the stairwell heading down. He hazarded a guess and shimmied as quickly and as quietly as he dared to the vents above the lab, and he found Darcy physically dragging Dr. Foster from the facilities for lunch.

So he waited, and an hour and a half later, after watching assistants and techs come and go, he finally saw Dr. Foster re-enter the lab with her nose in a manila folder and stop to check some equipment being tinkered on by a nearby engineer.

He took the opportunity to drop into her office and had just finished putting the vent cover back in place when she entered the room, still not looking up.

Clint figured she would see him. He waited five whole minutes sitting in the chair across from her, and cleared his throat twice before she looked up.

"What do you want?" she leveled him a glare that startled him.

"I fucked up."

"Obviously," she snorted and returned to her research. "Shouldn't you be having this conversation with Darcy; not that she's talking to you at this point."

"Tried that. It didn't end well, as she obviously told you," he sighed.

Five more minutes of Jane Foster ignoring Clint went past before he finally spoke up.

"How should I fix it?" he asked, because Dr. Foster was his only option for making this right.

"Knowing what you're actually apologizing for will probably help," Jane conceded. "And forget flowers, they remind Darcy of her grandfather's funeral," she added with a wave of her hand.

Clint was taking mental notes.

Jane opened her mouth to continue, but then snapped it shut and muttered something along the lines of "aiding the enemy" and turned back to her research before slamming her tiny fists down on the desk in a move that looked entirely too much like her boyfriend. "What are you doing moving with Darcy anyway?"

Clint looked at her funny, still trying to process the similarity, "What do you mean?"

"What are you getting out it? I mean, you two aren't dating, you're certainly not fucking-"

"Jesus!" Clint released in a guffaw. "Is that what you people think? That I'm using Darcy? For fucking what? I'm her god-damn body pillow! 'What do you get out of it!'" he mocked her. "I get Darcy, just seeing her happy, and healthy and getting what she needs. Is that a good enough fucking answer for you?" He was halfway out of his chair and turned towards the partially opened door to see all of the lab techs turn and scurry about their day like they all hadn't been listening, well fuck me.

Jane's quiet response stopped him at the door. "Maybe you should go tell that to Thor, I think it would make him feel better to think that you came to him about making your intentions known instead of me."

And when he looked back, her face was buried in a stream of data and Clint couldn't believe his ears. But left through the door and tried to sort through what the hell he just said.

Clint makes it back to the hotel late to find Darcy's clothes strewn across the floor instead of in their neat pile near her suitcase. The conversation with Thor had gone better than he had expected it to go, and had involved several boiler makers in celebration of Clint's decision to wed Darcy until Clint had to clarify that he said that he was going to make his intentions known about living together in a manner other than roommates. Which Thor took in stride too, though slightly disappointed, because in all reality the Norse god had already asked for his Jane's hand who had politely refused saying that she intended to wait many more years until she settled down to begin a family, not that she wanted to stop courting him, just that she wasn't ready for that next step just yet. And Clint had the idea that Thor would do everything in his power to wait for her to be ready, however long it took.

And Clint finally can understand that. He has made many mistakes when it comes to his heart, one turned out to be his best friend and partner, the other is an ex-wife that lives on the other side of the country because it just hadn't worked out. And now here he is again, ready to make that jump into the deep end once more, and it hits him. He would wait. He'd give Darcy everything that he can, anything that she wants, whenever she needs it. If it makes her happy then it makes him happy. So if she isn't ready for this, then she can keep it all, and he would move somewhere else until she is ready. The thought, as he stands outside of the bathroom door is oddly sobering. Regardless, the need to empty his bladder of whiskey and beer still remains. But the door appears to be locked.

"Darce?" he calls out and knocks loudly.

There is a strangled noise and a cry from the other side, and all sobriety has returned, his shoulder mashing against the door until the lock breaks and he skids into the steamed white bathroom. "Darce!" mild panic seeping into his voice, reaching and tugging open the shower curtain.

There Darcy stands in all of her glory, leg propped up against a wall, the detachable shower head buried between her thighs, her lower lip caught in her teeth and her free hand pulling on one taut nipple. Her teeth release her lip and her eyes pop open at the cold intrusion. Gooseflesh erupts across her skin. "Dude what the FUCK!" she shouts and reaches to wrap the shower curtain around her exposed body and the only thing that Clint could articulate is "amazing tits."

Which only seems to set Darcy off and she screeches at him to get out. The water turns off and a blind hand reaches out for a towel.

With the distractions once again hidden he spares a glance to the door, and then to the toilet and turns, unzipping his fly and releasing his original needs to enter the bathroom.

Not a moment later Darcy speaks again, "Are you seriously pissing right now?"

"Yep," Clint says.

"Gross," she hisses as he finishes and flushes.

"I talked to Thor. He offers his congratulations."

"For what?" Darcy growls and snaps the curtain to the side, revealing her barely contained assets beneath a flimsy hotel towel, and he thinks that she has never looked prettier.

"I'll move my shit, if you want the rooms. As long as you still spend the nights with me I don't care where the fuck I live, or you live. I just," he takes a breath. "I'm sorry I didn't ask. I'll do whatever you want."

Darcy stands there for a moment looking at him through squinty eyes and he realizes that her glasses are next to his hip on the counter, and he hands them over to her.

They fog on her face but she still gives him squinty eyes. "Anything?"

"Yeah. Within reason," he amends holding up his hands.

She gives him a stern face and holds her towel tighter, "ask me."

"Move in?" he asks without even blinking.

"Sure," she nods with a smile growing across her face and leaving the bathroom.

He can hear her riffling around in his bag for a fresh shirt and he smirks to himself, "wanna go out on a date?"

"Yes," is her immediate and muffled response, followed soon by the towel launched in the direction of the bathroom and accompanied by the sound of drawing back bedding.

"Will you hold it against me that I asked permission from your friends before I did this?" He asks deeming it kosher for him to leave the bathroom and not see her naked again. He pulls off his shirt, and toes off his boots.

Darcy hums and rings her soaking hair off of the side of the bed, "depends, who was first?"

"Jane," Clint scoffs remembering that awkward exchange as he shucks his pants and flops back down on the bed next to her, wrestling under the covers.

"Then no," Darcy laughs, "who was worse though?"

"She was," he answers easily because the bond between the two women was deeper seeded than that between the Norse god and his girlfriend's bestie. "He thought I was making my intentions known."

Darcy lays her glasses next to the bed and furrows her brows "Oh? Intentions? Like what, courtship?" Because she apparently knew about Thor wanting to make Jane his Queen, and by extension, one day Queen of Asgard, but Jane wasn't having any of that before she was 35 and had at least one more doctorate and something named after her.

Clint snorts, "yeah, we had boiler makers; he had little wedding bells ringing in his eyes," he turns to his side and opens his arm for her to maneuver under.

Darcy outright laughs."Haha, no, not before I've tested the merchandise," she snuggles up to his chest for the first time.

He waits a beat while she settles, and helps move her damp hair across the pillow. He swallows heavily and thinks about the pair of abandoned dog tags and an old wedding band at the bottom of his bag, "will you?"

Darcy inhales, half on her way to unconsciousness, "what test your rocking bod? I've got some pretty good ideas for those sexy-"

Clint cuts her off gruffly, "No, marry me."

Her sharp inhalation and increased heart rate hurry him into continuing that thought, now that he has her attention, "not right now, or anytime soon," he begins tracing the length of her spine, "but sometime, when you want, if you even want," he feels her shiver under his fingertips.

There is a long pause from her, while her heart beat slows back to normal and she can breathe without choking, "maybe," she says in her softest voice ever.

Clint smiles above her head, "Ok," and nestles his leg between hers, discovering warm, damp curls instead of a cotton barrier. His grin turns wicked feral, "can I lend you a hand there?" his fingers dance down her spine to pull her tighter against his growing erection.

"Ok, you can stop asking me now," she says a little breathlessly as she presses herself harder against his thigh.

He barks a small laugh and begins to move against her, sliding down the bed a fraction to get to the perfect friction spot between them. "Fine then," her leg hooks over his, "tell me what you want," her own fingers dig into his back and his ass, pulling his erection flush against her steaming core. "Whatever makes you happy Darce."

"Well, you can start with kissing me for fuck's sake."

And kiss her he does.


End file.
